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Dreaming of her friends at amityville, the dryad's mind was at peace. She was content with everything, or would have been, if she had only remained asleep. Unfortunately, things never worked in her favor.

Ava awoke in metal contraption of some sort. It wasn't anything she had ever seen before, nor did it bring any comfort to her. In fact, she was downright terrified. Where were the others? Had they ended up in one of these things as well? She had to get out of here! She had to get out now! Shakily raising her hand to the metal, she began to feel around for something, anything that would give her an idea of how to break out of this thing. But nothing appeared to work, not even hitting the door repeatedly. It was times like these, that she wished for Avery's strength.

Voices interrupted her thoughts--none of them familiar to her. Who were these people? And what did they mean by candidate? Were they referring to her? Candidate for what?

Pounding on the metal a few times to get there attention, she tried calling out to them instead. "Please! Let me out! I-I don't want to be a candidate! Please!" No answer.

How many other students did they have? How many candidates did they need? Was this..was this the reaper in the caves doing? Was he behind this? But then..Skylar, Avery and Vic--they were still in the cave, weren't they? Were they brought here as well? And where was Zeke? Last thing she remembered, was him in the library--was it him who pulled her out of the cave?

"Where is Zeke! Answer me damn it! Where is he!" Still no answer.

Why wouldn't they answer? Could they not do that for her at least? If they weren't going to let her out, could they not do this much for her? Unless..he was already dead?

No..no, no, no, no, NO! Zeke would survive this! He was strong, and bright, and..

A blast of pain shot through her, enough that it caused the dryad to cry out. She couldn't speak anymore, the lights, the noise, the pain..it was too much for her to bare. Instead, she retreated into the comfort of her memories. Her enrollment at amityville, her joining of DETH, her friends..and Zeke.

"I'm sorry..Zeke..I never did give you an answer.."

But I always loved you.

Weaponization Failed

In the center of an all-white room, the figure in black and silver stood out in sudden, stark contrast -- a stain on a perfectly white background. From control screens receiving the camera footage in three corners of the too-white room, it looked like a scene from a horror movie. Three different views of a man, forearms resting on his knees, long black hair framing a cold, blank expression. A man... with steel colored eyes, and the horns of a demon. Screams from the adjacent rooms echoed off the sharp white walls, echoed back through the control screens to the observers, muffled a little but perfectly distinguishable as... human-like -- but if the demon recognized any of the voices, identifying his peers by their tortured shrieks, it did not mar his blank expression. In the three hours the subject had been in the room, he had not moved. Back arched, fingers steepled in front of his face, he sat in the fold-out chair with a dark stillness, inhuman eyes focused straight ahead. Waiting.

He had not struggled against the white suits which had brought him in, framed by them as he was lead, maintaining the same eerie stillness he displayed now. Detached, in a way that screamed...

...psychopath.

Another scream, this time a higher pitched. Female.

"I do not scream, I proclaim."

Callie leaned against the wall just beside the door, her arms folded across her chest. She was giving him a cross look, her scowl just as pretty as it had been a few days ago, eyebrows furrowed, staring him down in a way that suggested she didn't approve. Whether she didn't approve of what he said, or whether she didn't approve of him in general, he never had figured it out. He'd spent far too much time needling her. Despite how hard she worked to look formidable, he wondered if perhaps his snide remarks hadn't secretly made the paper golem ghoul feel invalidated.

Beside her, Sophie smiled at him sweetly, her eyes seeming to glitter as she waggled her fingers at him in acknowledgement.

Part of him acknowledged he should have treated them better. Perhaps that was why no one had ever really liked him.

"You know Cain, I do like you," Pyre's voice replied, nearly as cool as his own. She had joined the other two, materializing seemingly out of nowhere, standing just inside his peripheral vision. "But sometimes you need a damn good kick to the balls." She'd given it to him too. Numerous times. He'd always been just slightly worried, being parred up against the phoenix during Practical Application of FEAR, concerned that she would not only show him up, but beat him to a pulp. Countless spars, and he'd only ever just managed to keep up, despite his above-average skill. Between her and Red, the two probably could have taken the whole third-year class.

Funny, how all that training hadn't done him any good. Hadn't done any of them any good. Another agonized scream, closer this time, wafted through the walls. It wouldn't be long now.

"You're not too bad, Cain. Pity we don't have longer to know each other."

This voice, too, was familiar, smooth and personable in a way that his own voice never had been. Dis. Except the vampire had been referring to his kissing prowess, not his stellar personality, he mentally reminded himself. Sex had always been at the forefront of Dis' mind, every comment out of that flirtatious mouth having some sort of connotation. It made sense, then, why the vampire was now pressed against Rowly, practically purring at him from the far corner, just beneath the camera.

Figures.

He knew what was coming next, even before it happened. He'd been anticipating it from the start -- dreading it, even -- although he should have known she would have been last. Her sheer hatred of him, enough to put off seeing him until the very last second, made it very in character for her. The fact that he'd wanted her to be the last thing he saw was pretty in character for him too.

The first moment he became aware of her, she settled a hand on his shoulder. Smaller and more delicate than a boil's, it rested heavier than it should have, like she was leaning some of her weight into it. Although it was still lighter than he'd been expecting. Less resentful. Perhaps she wasn't so in character after all. He felt her body weight shift a little, the sound of her punk-style shoes soft against the blinding tile floor, circling around to stand in front of him. Her body blocked his sight of the door, but he continued to stare straight ahead, through her grey plaid skirt and silver studded belt. Ignoring her. Because even when he was about to die, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

Neither was she, apparently. Both hands rested on his shoulders, and she leaned leaned down, bending at the waist, until her face was directly in front of his. Making sure he couldn't sure he couldn't ignore her.

b***h.

"I wish you were dead," Bella murmured, her tone lacking any real bite. Her blue eyes were locked with his -- soft, in a way they never really had ever been, save for the few moments as they caught their breath, and he'd stared down at her, rose-pink hair spread out on his sheets. It framed her face, now, cascading over her shoulders in silken waves.

'What a surprise.'

As if reading his mind, she smiled slightly, mirthlessly. "I wish you were ******** dead." Her voice was still that same, even tone, no resentment hiding there. No rage. As if she truly meant it.

She probably did.

'Vindictive b***h.' he mentally retorted, his own tone sounding hollow even to him. This time she reached up before replying, cupping his cheek with her palm in an almost condescending way, her smile broadening a little.

"Yeah, I am. And you loved me. So what does that make you?"

He still didn't have an answer for that one. But it didn't matter anyway. The screams in the room next to his own had died now, the buzzing sound of crackling electronics and arcing electicity fading, replaced by the smell of burning flesh. In an instant, the figures in the room vanished, leaving him alone once again, eyes still rooted on the door. There was a clicking, the odd sound of some sort of machinery being adjusted, and the gentle, growing hum of something ominous warming up. When the pain came, it was blinding, that same blinding white of that god forsaken room. Except he couldn't see the room now. Only the white. It was intense right from the start, electricity or perhaps his own resistance making his body tighten, convulse as he arched, writhed, feeling it like a jarring sensation in his gritted teeth. So many things he should have said. I'm sorry would have been a good start.

Oh well.

Everything was falling away, now. Layer upon layer of experiences, childhood places and people he used to know, not one of which he could have honestly called a friend. Hours of lectures, assignments, exams -- forgotten. The memories of their classmates died, crumbled like a thousand year old letter.

This would not be his moment of redemption. Save it for the hero of this fairy tale.

The story was quickly drawing to a conclusion. His body had reached the breaking point, every single fiber of his being vibrating, threatening to be torn apart at the very seams. It didn't really feel like anything now -- he couldn't pinpoint any single part of him anymore, limbs and skin and teeth and sinew not even seeming there. Perhaps they weren't, anymore.

The pain reached a crescendo, a moment where the mind-shattering agony reached its climax...

And then there was nothing at all.



For a long while, there was nothing but blackness. Not even real thought -- he remembered nothing, felt nothing, although the latter was more than likely the result of his personality rather than the effect of any cause. Then again, there was no reason to feel. There were no stimuli, nothing to provoke any sensation at all, no memories to invoke any fear, hatred, sadness or regret. Just unending, eternal nothingness. It went on forever in both directions, all encompassing, in a way that was completely and utterly timeless.

If he had had any conscious thought, he might have considered the possibility that he had just... ceased to be.

Then... suddenly, there was something else. A presence, a tangible feeling, the kind you got when you could feel someone else with you in a dark room, but you couldn't see them. And in it, he felt everything. Ambition. Hatred. That same, familiar seed of darkness.

And... something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, buried beneath this cold, dominating exterior. Something almost... gentle... longing...

In that same darkness, Cain extended a hand, his voice like the hot breath of a predator.

'Come here, sweetness...'

Arcana breathed in heavily as he stared at the sky, his hand held a delicate scaly one, a not so warm body pressed into his side and a soft hiss of his beloved lulling him into contentment. It was hard not to be happy when things seemed to go so right in his life. He had been truthful when he told Selene that when she accepted being his ghoulfriend was the best day of his life. He lied because at the same time, everyday he got to hold her hand, to see those mesmerizing eyes, to feel her duck into him when they passed by strangers was the best day.

he had held these feelings so long that it was odd to even have them now. He knew Selene felt the same. They were painfully shy, painfully awkward and painfully perfect each other. He turned to face her now, attempting not to disturb her rest, his face flushing as she gave a small protest hiss before curling back into him. he still held her hand while the other reached up to brush a stray lock of her hair. Placing a chastise kiss on her lips, he rested his chin on her head and let her sleep. And was lulled into his own sleep by her breathing and the serenity of the clouds.....

And woke alone. Metal and glass surrounded him as he tried to wake himself from the slumber. His hand still felt the heavy weight of Selene's, his body the curl of her figure in his and....Her screams as he was taken away.

He pushed himself up, reaching around the glass. He could hear other voices, but not ones that mattered. They spoke of change and of 'canidates' and things but that wasn't Arcana's concern. His concern was for the ghoul who in the first time for him, screamed in pain and loss.

He had been taken but Selene was safe. It only mattered that Selene was safe.

"Start the procedure..." The voice said. Arcana couldn't see them but stood aimlessly in the cell. He wasn't strong enough to break this cage, he wasn't strong enough to fight back. He wasn't strong like his sister. Tarot....His hands shook as he laid it on the glass, somewhere he could feel his sister. She wasn't far.

A small brief echoing of her voice before it disappeared....Just like Selene. The two people who mattered to Arcana more then breath itself...gone from him.

"I was never the strongest...." He said aloud, "I am still not the strongest. Whatever you guys are planning, You won't get it from me....Without her...I am nothing. Without them....I am nothing..." He smiled sadly. In the end, he always knew.

He wasn't strong.

"Selene...." His head rest on the glass now, eyes closing as he brought up her face. His snake ghoul.

"Counting down till conversion....3....2....1..."

"I love you Selene......" He whispered one last time before gasping out in pain, Shock rivoting in his body. His body disengrating with the blast.

"Weapon Conversion: Failed..."

All that was left of Arcana the Reaper was the handprint on the glass....and a whispered devotion of love to Selene.

If there was ever a time Quin wished she had been dreaming now was that time. Her body felt heavy when she finally came to, being dragged down the corridor of some strange place. She might as well have still been out as good as it did her to be conscious. No matter what she tried her limbs refused to respond, her eyes the only thing that managed to function taking in the strange and blinding brightness of the clean white walls. It was so painfully bright clouding her vision and forcing her to close her eyes once again. Maybe if she willed herself to wake up she would find herself in the nurse’s office and Red would be there firing off her mouth about how they were going to show those loud mouth reaper’s who true Defenders really were.

Try as she might her mind became more lucid and feeling began to tingle through her limbs. When she was finally able to flex her fingers and roll her head up Quin was deposited unceremoniously on the floor. Crumpling forward the vampire managed to keep her face from smacking metal. Resting on her knees, her forearms flat against the floor she tried to push herself up. She only managed to jerk her head up when she heard the heavy scrap of metal against metal and the loud clang of a door being closed. It was then those emerald eyes took in her surroundings. The extremely small room, no more than a closet, furnished with nothing more than the cloud metal walls that surrounded her.

Whispers and voices could be heard from the outside but what they were saying Quin was having a hard time making out. All she knew was her adrenaline was starting to kick in and she quickly rose to her feet and threw herself back against the door. Her steps were unsteady at first and she quite literally fell into the door but soon she began to pound with her fist, a vicious scream rising to her throat.

“LET ME OUT OF ‘ERE YA ******** BASTARDS!” With another scream of frustration Quin threw her shoulder into the wall but failed to get the door to budge. She had no idea what they had planned but the vampire wasn’t going to settle for this confinement. SHE WOULD NOT GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT. If only the assholes would fight fair. “Where are my friends?!” Quin continued to demand and she could hear the whispers of conversation drawing closer. They still weren’t speaking to her though, simply working out a small problem, talking about a candidate. Candidate? For what?

“If ya don’ let me out of ‘ere I’ll make ya ALL- “ And without warning a sudden pain surged through her far worse than the nets she had experienced not long ago. Her body went rigid as the searing pain worked its way down to her very core forcing the scream that had at first been stuck in her throat. Clawed fingers jerked as she struggled to raise her arms to claw at the door to no avail. For a moment there was fear as she felt her body being pulled apart and rearranged, a crippling feeling as one true regret hit her.

"Our date is still on, right?" In that moment she could hear only Malcolm’s voice, the pain wasn’t present just the memory of that moment. The moment HE had actually asked her out. "We'll go on that date tomorrow. Movie and dinner, both on me."

"Aye, I'd like that." Quin had remembered how happy she felt and knew that moment was never going to be. "I look forward to it." And she had looked forward to it, somehow she had procrastinated all these years and finally when she had gathered the courage to ask him it had turned out like this. "Pick me up at seven, yeah? Don' be late. I'll wear something pretty fer ya." Fighting was one thing but showing feelings was another and now Quin knew she was never going to know how that date would have turned out. Hell, she hadn't even gotten a chance to explain to him about the joke with his staff.

“Perhaps in another life time, Malkem,” Quin thought before the agonizing pain returned in full force. It felt like her body was going to shatter and suddenly a rage fueled her where there once was fear. She wasn’t going to let herself perish here so easily, not without making someone pay first. The vampire refused to let her existence end so easily not before she sank her fangs into the bastards who put her here and drained them dry. Her scream of agony turned into one of rage as she willed her body to stay together. She would fight! She was no ordinary student, SHE WAS A DEFENDER! And suddenly Red’s words rang true and Quin could do nothing more than embrace what was happening. She was Halloween and they would not die.

After the blinding white light faded a pair of daggers clattered to the ground. Curved and double edged they resembled fangs, the handle and part of the blade etched with Celtic markings. It was so quiet now, almost peaceful. Quin reached out to speak but it didn’t feel like there was anyone there to listen. She was desperate to move, to be heard, but there was only silence. Numbing silence.

She came to feeling sluggish and weak, as though all the FEAR had been sapped out of her. She hadn't dissipated, as she had hoped, or if she'd had...well, this definitely wasn't the nurses office.

"Christ, does she ever stop coughing?"

The voice was gruff and unfamiliar, and her eyes suddenly widened, her body going rigid even as she brought up a hand and coughed violently into it. Her thoughts were muddled as she tried to remember what had happened, and then suddenly it all came rushing back, slamming into her like a freight train. The 'Reaper', the tunnel, the cave, the other cloaked figures, the nets...

...And then blackness.

"Wh--where am I?" She rasped out quietly. It probably wasn't even audible, as she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, her head hanging, her mess of tangled dark hair obscuring most of her face. "Where are my friends?" A little louder, an angry hiss as she raised her face to take in her surroundings. A..glass chamber of some kind?

"She sounds like she has some kind of disease. Probably not even worth trying to conv--" A different voice this time, a softer voice, though the disgust in his voice was clear. The rest of what he had to say, Ashly would not hear, as another bout of coughing racked her body.

And then there was nothing but pain.

The surge of unfathomable agony that burnt through every fiber of her being cut off the raspy sounds that were coming out of her throat, only to be replaced by hoarse screams. Her body began to spasm violently and with a terrific force that left her lying sprawled out on the floor. She couldn't think, couldn't speak, all she could do was wail uncontrollably, her fingers curling into claws that scraped against the floor, her entire body shaking and shivering. There were no words to describe the intense pain, nothing to compare it with. She had thought that the nets had been bad but this was far, far worse. It was like she was being torn apart, her body attempting to reform, but she struggled against it. He fought with everything she had, willing the pain to stop.

The pain wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not until she finally gave in, the whiplash of whatever force was accosting her tearing into her in a full frontal assault. But it was wrong, oh so wrong. Instead of being torn apart and reformed she was simply torn apart, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

Weaponization Failed.

Skylar vaguely acknowledged the people garbed in white as he was dragged into another chamber. His will to fight already lost as the door closed behind him. He was trapped, confused, and angry. Angry at his captors. Angry at the school. But most of all he was angry at himself.

How could he have been so naive? So foolish? He should have acted with the others and fought the intruders while he had the chance. But because he didn't and because he failed to see, the others had been... the others...

Skylar never did find out what had happened to either Zeke or Ava. He had lost sight of them during the fray between the students and the hooded reapers. But he refused to think what might have become of them. He hoped they escaped. No he had to believe they escaped. Escaped somewhere far from here. Maybe even spread word of what had happened and get the teachers to send aid and--

And then what? What could the teachers do now?

Skylar was a fool. A fool to believe that by standing idly by for the sake of the stranger that he was helping to protect his friends. But that was a lie wasn't it? Instead all he had done was let others fall victim to these people and it took his fellow students to become trapped like animals to see that. No one was coming. That much he knew.

"Sorry guys, I failed you when you needed me most..."

Surrendering his remaining strength, the gargoyle closed his eyes for the last time and allowed his conscience to plunge into an eternal darkness.

Weaponization Failed

He hoped that he was about to open his eyes and find himself slumped over a book the facts swimming in his head, the memory of fighting and panic replaced by amusement at such wild fancy. Unfortunately for him the fancy was in believing that everything that had happened would be so easily dispelled into a dream. Tosel shivered and slowly opened his eyes forced by the cold sensation seeping into him to acknowledge what was happening. He jerked a bit startled by the sensation of cold metal all around and under him. A platform? Voices? Were these his kidnappers then? What were they going to do to him?

He hated to have questions...without answers. He tried to struggle, tried to yell and shout in a rage, what was this place and what was going to become of him? He could hear them, but he went unheard...or ignored.

He struck out trying to break free, but there would be no freedom from this. Knowledge, it came from deep inside him, the primal understanding of what was going to happen...this was the end of the road. He refused the wisdom, refused to surrender now, not now when his life was just about to really begin! He still had so much to look forward to, he had gone to school and studied, but the world held so much more! He ached to be free, not free to hide in a musty room full of books, but to experience all the things he had read about. He twisted about thrashing with a sudden wildness, the last struggle of someone who had suddenly realized how much they had yet to really live. Who would remember him when he was gone? Where were the others now? Would the defenders come and be his salvation...he swore, he promised, he begged, if only.

No one came, and when the pain struck him it seemed no one heard his screams. He yowled, then his yowl became more, less, it was drowned out, his eyes were blinded, the pain...the pain...

Ouch...

Tosel was young, very young and the sting of the paper cut was new to him, he had never known a book to cause him pain.

"Momma? The book bit me."

"Oh Tosel, that book cant bite you...it's a paper cut." She pulled a slim volume from a shelf and opened it for him. Her delicate fingers skimmed the page then pointed out the definition for him.

Tosel read the words, once, twice before committing them to memory. A paper cut, a micro cut in the skin that will sometimes bleed if pressure is applied. If he left it alone or bandaged it, it would heal. If he parted the skin or allowed it to get dirty an infection was a possible outcome. He had learned something new, the same way his parents taught him everything, by sliding a book under his nose and going back to their reading.

He didn't learn about kisses for boo boos, or cute little bat bandages, he learned what was in the book, anything else was trivial.

He ignored the stinging ache of the cut and went back to reading with more care as he turned the pages. With every word he felt the pain ebb away, in the words of a book he could learn anything, become anything, he was free to explore hundreds of places and times. A smile curved his lips and he felt his mind drift away happily transported to the world between the pages.

He felt his spine tense, it was tight now, the muscles were straining as he felt something deep inside him tearing, changing. He reached out a hand as he had so often, but this time he wasn't reaching for a book, he ached to make contact, to feel another person reaching out to him. He gave a sudden startled gasp and felt everything inside him suddenly collapse in on itself before it all seemed to explode outwards into a new form...

There was a book on the ground connected to a thick sturdy chain, but the book had no writing inside, the pages were steel blades, the covers made of heavy beautifully engraved metal. If someone picked up the chain, if this book was swung away from them it could be undoubtedly lethal. Tosel ached to feel connected again, but he would just have to wait.

He was beaten. Unmasked. Had acquiesced to their demands and even deemed them worthy of the cave and its treasures, whatever that meant. She was a Good Guy, a hero, a Defender, someone who was supposed to win in the end. This was how all stories were supposed to go: trials, tribulations, and then triumph over their troubles.

Yet here was one Callie couldn't foresee a solution to. Alone, groggy, and in pain, the golem woke to find herself situated on a platform. Blindly she groped for means of helping herself off the ground, but her palm only met with cold metal that sapped her strength further. A cage? She fell into a heap with a small yelp, twitching and smelling of burnt paper.

Noise. Chatter somewhere beyond the walls. She roused herself with a groan. "Oy . . ." They didn't seem to hear. "Oy . . ." Nothing, mere mumbles as they chatted.

"OY!" The shout echoed off the walls in a painful manner, but at least the false reapers turned to her with quizzical brows. "Where are they? Where are the others?" she demanded, ever sounding more bold than her condition should have allowed.

No answer. More murmurs, the click of a switch. Pain. White hot pain. Her vision blurred, her legs failed her, and her senses went on the fritz, but still she could hear snippets. Candidates. Weapons. A tool for these false reapers?

She struggled to make the word, papery lips charred. "No." There had been no question posed to her, but there didn't need to be. "No," she said again, stronger, fighting to get back up without touching the walls. Her legs trembled and rustled but she fought to keep her shape, to keep her head up high, to send the most baleful, determined glare at these people.

Let them see the look in her eyes as they flipped the switch again, sent white hotness through her body that burned to her core. Let them hear nothing escape her as she clenched her teeth and fell back to the ground. Let them watch and judge her meager attempts to get back up, drop, and then get back up again.

More chatter. If only she were willing, she would make a decent weapon. If she let go, she'd be theirs - serving a greater purpose. Isn't that what she wanted? The power to change the world? What was the point of fighting when others had gone before her to join a just cause? Just let go.

A pause. Thoughts flew through her head like flipping through a book. Temptation. Power. To have a voice that no-one could ignore, to have hands that could shape desired outcomes, to have . . . to have, at last, fulfilled a life-long dream. Be in charge. Be something more.

But . . . there was nothing more. Callie was simply Callie, and that was how she wanted to stay: a loud, often nosy ghoul whose best intentions were not usually shared by their targets. She wanted to tell Ashly to find help for her smoking issue, stupid as it sounded given her species. She wanted to tell Ren to give up his prankster impulse and straighten up for the future, even though she had no right to tell him what to do with his life. She wanted to tell Cain to stay away from Bella and her destructively whimsical nature, away from Rowly and his assholish needling, to tell him that he didn't have to be so cold to others if he'd just choose his friends better - but then, what did she know about love and friends anyway? The best Callie ever made was friendly acquaintances and frenemies; any and all crushes she'd developed had been quashed before they could bloom so as to keep her mind focused.

It was something of a lonely existence, but it was something she had grimly decided on and stuck to through her years in Amityville. Not everyone was meant for love. Or at least that was what she told herself. Looking back on it now, it was all sort of silly. A waste even. Even heroes could have lovers. But Callie was one to only look forward, and the pang of regret quickly left her.

They said she was perfect for their cause, but in reality she was flawed just like any other conscious creature. And to be honest . . . that was alright.

Callie, being unable to make spit, managed to lift a wavering middle finger and plastered one final defiant grin on her face before the final flip of the switch made her see nothing but white, hear nothing but white, be nothing but white. As pristine as a fresh piece of paper waiting for a new story.

And that was how All Caps Callie, the boldly loud ghoul who had no qualms about giving her opinions, went quietly into the night.